ClaudeXAlois: Dreams, Nightmares and MakeBelieve
by Yaoi-Chibi
Summary: Alois can't understand how water droplets can be rejected by the sky, yet serve another purpose. While going on psychotic tangents, he discovers his butler is everything he wants


Sometimes, it all seems like a dream. Some sick fantasy a pedophilic washed out poet happened to carve into his skin as a means of creative outlet. I know it isn't anything the general population would smile upon, but sometimes, it's everything I want.

It's raining, the sky's way of saying to the water molecules "I don't feel like carrying you anymore". I wonder what the molecules feel when they touch the ground, when they separate into a million little drops destined to be walked upon by twice as many shoes. If this is my dream, my nightmare is for him to say that to me. For him to leave. Nothing else matters except for that, and nothing else he could do could ever turn me away. There's nothing he could do that everyone else hasn't tried already. As the sky drenches me, I wonder if it's weighing me down with further imperfections or making a pathetic attempt at washing away the darkness that already rests on my shoulders. Everything can be contorted into something else, something sick, and even the purest of souls sometimes can find themselves entangled in a clever spider's web. You can't condemn us for it, but you can't love us for it either.

The rain puddles reflect us walking in a thousand different angles across the cobblestones of London. They shimmer slightly as droplets continue to join them, contorting our faces into something wicked and closer to the truth. I can feel his eyes watching me as we walk, his scowl as I jump into the puddles without any regard to what it may do to my stockings. He is somewhat worried that I will catch a cold, but, as usual, his concern is limited to his own intentions. As I kick the pools of water, our reflections scatter into shards of unwanted combination of hydrogen and oxygen and I make it a point to send him a smile over my shoulder. I'm pretending to have fun, as I pretend to do everything else in life. He needs to know I'm having fun. I'm having fun. I AM having FUN.

Aren't I?

Suddenly, everything blurs. Why should I have to pretend? I'm pretending to have fun, while pretending to enjoy my stroll, with my pretend butler, in a ridiculously pretend outfit, in a pretend life. The other earl doesn't have to do that, but what if his world is fake too? What if the world in general is fake?

It can't be, it's not ALLOWED to be. The world is mine. The world is only my dream, my fantas-

It's dark.

My fantasy has turned to black.

Claude. Why is he the first thing I wake up to, day after day? I can't be left alone, but still, I can't have a moment in which his eyes don't see through me either. It's freakishly warm, and after I'm able to avert my eyes from his anxiety-ridden face, I realize I'm in my bedroom. Claude is over me and the bitch is standing in the corner, waiting with my dinner while a cup of water sits in a dainty little cup near my head. It's funny how the abused and abandoned liquid from the sky can be adorned to look like a compassionate gesture. I suppose we all can be dressed up to symbolize something of significance. It's sort of sad, really.

"Your highness?" The words are gentle, like a lover's and as Claude leans over me; I can't help but think of him as one. I want the whore to leave so badly. It's doubtable that the intent of the question is truly asking me if I would like the dinner she holds, rather than if I would prefer to skip to dessert. I hate it when he does this, and I can feel his breath on my face as he stares down at me, waiting on an answer.

I'm not giving him that.

Instead of muttering a cliché "Yes?" my whole body reacts, sitting up suddenly, forcing him to back away, lest my head crash into his. Ignoring him completely, I let my feet swing down to the floor. My nakedness an afterthought, I make my way towards the slut. Her face is blurry, and it dawns on me that the reason I awoke in bed was because I blacked out during our stroll. Funny it's so common. Funny that she still pretends to care when it happens.

"Is that for me?" I smile at her, and the shaking that ensues isn't from the dizziness. She averts her eye, quickly becoming QUITE interested in the design in the carpet. A little of the soup spills over the white porcelain edge of it's bowl and onto the silver tray as her hands shake. Rebel drops of soup, water, all dressed up and still wanting more.

Purposefully, I frown as I take the final step towards her. The dressed up soup-water splatters across the wall as I strike her. She should know better. Claude would have told her to leave eventually. Blood, another elaborated form of H2O, joins the soup as I strike again. The platter crashes to the floor and she picks it up, reaching to pick up the shattered fragments of plate as I kick at her ribs. Eventually, she crawls out, leaving an annoying trail of red to the door.

Claude walks over a second later, shutting the door and expertly walking up to the painting of various watercolors and removing a white rag from his jacket. He intends to clean. Really, sometimes I don't know what he thinks.

"Leave it." I smile again, grabbing the hand with the rag in it and tugging it back towards the bed. It's cold, and the rag rubs across my face as I try to press his flesh to it instead. His eyes narrow, and if he didn't realize MY intent, he seems to be catching on now. Probably, being an idealistic butler, he wants to clean first…Maybe he'll invent a way to do both.

"Replace it" The tension in his arm fades as he gives in, and I feel my smile widen automatically in reaction to getting my way. He adjusts his glasses as I let go, spinning and falling across the bed, still smiling with my face buried in the covers. It's not long before I can feel him, he's careful not to touch me, his knees on either side, his hands beside my face, his breath tickling at the back of my neck. He never touches me unless I tell him, unless I want it.

Which is obvious now, but.

I roll over, my bare chest brushing across the front of his jet-black uniform, the smile still plastered onto my face. An expressionless stare remains on his face as he looks down at me, but other parts of him can't contain the emotion. It's the only part of him that gives me any clue at all to what he may think, and I love it. It's strangely human.

In response to his unasked questions, I pull him onto myself…his body is heavy on my own, and my legs wrap themselves like spider webs around his waist. With my teeth I steal the ribbon around his neck, my cursed tongue running up the exposed portion of his neck.

"You know what I want of you" It's a simple command, but with oh so much connotation.

He actually takes a second to respond.

"Yes, your highness."

His fingers find the clasped silver buttons on his vest, undoing them one by one at an incredible speed. Without moving me, he shrugs it off, tossing it onto the ground in a way that shows him as more of a demon than a butler. I wait, almost patiently, smiling up at him, letting my legs grid against him in silent encouragement. In the same fashion, his bare chest is revealed, and as I lick sit up to trace my tongue against it, I can hear his pants slide down to the ground. When I lay back down, I roll over, almost obedient. Sometimes, it's as if he owns me. Sometimes- no.

~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~

Through everything, the ridiculous cup of water molecules sits next to the bed. They're captured, but they're serving their purpose. Someday, they'll collect in the sky once more, and yet again they'll be abandoned. I refuse to be abandoned, and somehow, I know with him I won't be. It isn't much, and it isn't anything to smile upon, but sometimes, it's all I want.


End file.
